


Winter Chills and Angel Sleeves

by SerpentineTraveler



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is insecure, Cuddling, Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), I Think Its Cute, Non edited, Other, Post not-pocalypse, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), i dont actually address that but it is implied they talk about it after the fic, inconsistent tense use, theyre both ace but i dont talk about it, theyre still non-binary mind you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22010827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineTraveler/pseuds/SerpentineTraveler
Summary: It's winter, its cold.  Crowley is not prepared.  On the way to the bookshop the chill gets to him and he cannot fight his snakey nature, and the Bookshop is warm and so is Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 237





	Winter Chills and Angel Sleeves

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Ace Omens discord, whichout whom this would have never been finished.
> 
> They also helped with names for the not-pocalypse!

Winter brought cold weather, and the cold brought on a slowness and just a general snake-y-ness that Crowley was usually able to keep at bay during the warmer months, without too much trouble. The demon had gotten pretty good at adapting his habits during the cold season, either straight up sleeping it away or just packing on the layers and sticking heat packs into every available pocket. And then some more where there weren’t any. 

He’d long since preferred to sleep right through the harshest of winter. A well experienced sleeper, having upon one notable occasion slept the better part of a century away, so a couple months was nothing. (And that...nap… was definitely only because he liked sleep and not because he was licking his wounds after the dastardly holy water debacle...definitely not.)

But after the Not-Pocolypse, the End-That-Wasn’t, or whatever, it got a new name in his mind every time he thought about the damned event, things had changed. Crowley really didn’t like to think about the Armageddon’t, it had nearly driven him to another stress induced sleep, or another drunken stupor. (Him vs Heaven and Hell for Earth was an attempt bound for failure, but if it was with Aziraphale, it would be worth _trying._ ) 

The roller coaster of emotions and stress had exhausted him and even on the airbase he could feel himself becoming more snake-like; patches of scales cropping up on his shoulders and hips. He’d made a concerted effort to keep them to places hidden by his clothes. He didn’t like reminding Aziraphale of his more ‘crawling-at-you-feet-ish’ form, as well as didn’t want to frighten the kids any more than the situation at hand already had.

He’d not truly had the chance to crash after the ordeal, seeing as he’d then offered Aziraphale a place to stay (his tongue had definitely gone snaky on the bus ride home) and then the whole business of the trials. Well, a singular Trial, as Heaven had deemed it an unnecessary human formality and gone straight to the execution of supposed justice. Crowley was still incensed about that, even _Hell_ had given a trial, even built a court room of sorts, even if it was just for show. Heaven’s whole, holier-than-thou, Heaven-knows-best shtick wasn’t something Crowley hadn’t expected per se, but he wasn’t happy about the confirmation. It certainly explained a lot; Crowley thought he understood a little more of Aziraphale’s insecurities and doubts stemmed from. 

But since then, the pair had been meeting up much more often than ever before, they were together now. Instead of years, or even decades, it was days or hours. And as much as Crowley loved it, and loved Aziraphale, he hadn’t been able to just fall to pieces as he very much needed to. It was a new(ish) relationship and he didn’t want to risk it but showing instability. It was taking a major toll on Crowley. He was more forgetful, and sleepy no matter how good a night sleep he’d had. The scaly patches on his skin were never gone for long, ready to pop up at the slightest stress. 

Seeing Aziraphale on the regular now, meant he could not just sleep it away. He couldn’t just leave Aziraphale like that, he’d worry, nor does he want to explain how weak he is the elements. He’d done it before, he could do it again. He’d just manage. That would be fine, of course, if he’d not been as worn down as he was. So when the first snow came, and he’d been no more dressed than he’d been that one day in Tadfield as he walked towards the bookshop. The wind had cut through his clothing and chilled him straight to the bone. Now, under normal circumstances he’d remember that he could just miracle himself some warmer garments but, alas, he’d forgotten.

Crowley, near cold blooded as he was, could not recover the warmth, bombarded by the wind and snow. He’d been much closer to the bookshop than Mayfair, not ideal- for Mayfair was set up with heat pads and lamps for him to bask. As loathe as he was to show his weakness to the angel, he realized he really had no choice unless he wanted to discorporate _now_ from _the cold_ of all things, and wouldn’t that just be so humiliating. He knew his eyes were all snaky and should he attempt to speak, it would no doubt be more hissing than the English language. The scaly patches spread to his throat and face as he trudged ahead. 

After what felt like an eternity, the bookshop was finally in sight. A light in the darkness. Crowley picked up speed as best he could on his wobbling legs until he was leaned against the doorway. He paused, anxieties getting the best of him for a moment. He peered in through the window and noted Aziraphale engrossed in a book facing away from the door. He could just waltz right in, but he couldn’t be more snakey unless he were an actual snake. His teeth pointed, his tongue thin and split, and he could feel the patches of scales threatening to out number the skin. Or he could just be a snake, sneak in to the warm shop, and avoid worrying Aziraphale. Snake it was.

Giving in to the transformation was a relief for the demon, for holding his human form together was sapping his energy away. He slithered through the mail slot, doing his best to minimize the sound of the metal flap hitting the door. (He needn’t worry, the angel in the room was both much too absorbed in parchment and had a record playing in the corner, something Crowley would surely sneer at should he pay attention.) 

Aziraphale, noticed none of this, and Crowley really needn’t have worried. First taking a moment to appreciate the warmth of the shop, Crowley then noted that Aziraphale had a fire burning cheerfully and had uncharacteristically slung his coat over the arm of the lounge sat near the hearth. A benefit for Crowley, for he could see a very available pocket, perfectly snake sized (a perhaps less helpful size marker considering Crowley had control over the size at which his form manifested, but that’s neither here nor there) that was nicely prewarmed for him. As reticent as he was about fires in the bookshop, his need for warmth overcame his nerves. He slunk forward, barely needing to be careful, as Aziraphale was certainly not paying attention. 

One might have expected the angel to feel the presence of another celestial being in his space, but Crowley had long since been considered welcome enough that his appearance was barely a blip on the radar. As sure as Crowley was that Aziraphale didn’t see the demon the was he saw the angel, it was certainly untrue and can be simply ascribed to Crowley’s uncertainty and unwillingness to rock the boat. He’d seen what happened if one questioned things too much. As much as he supported curiosity, he didn’t think he’d survive if Aziraphale rejected him and left him alone.

Reaching the lounge, and by extension, the coat, he pushed his nose into the open pocket. Now, should Crowley had taken a moment to consider his plan of attack this might have been more successful an entry, seeing as while the coat could have held up his snakey weight if it was just placed, it could not stay on the couch with him actively pulling himself up on it.All of a sudden the snake felt himself falling, and with a thump his world was dark. The coat had come down on top of the red and black snake, right in front of the warm hearth. By some miracle, and none of the demonic nature, Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the commotion, the jacket now hidden from his view by the couch itself.

But Crowley was now rather stuck. He couldn’t transform back, not without potentially ripping the jacket. He wiggled, and wriggled, and wiggled some more, but he couldn’t free himself, only managing to tangle himself even more in the fabric. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t actually want to get out of the jacket. It was warm and with every flick of his tongue, it smelled like his angel. It was cozy, and safe. But that would be soft and even on their own side, he was still a demon, and demons were not soft. (He was though, and he wasn’t fooling anyone, not anyone who mattered anyways)

Eventually the demon gave up trying to escape the jacket. The warmth from the hearth and the scent of his angel lulled the demon to a light doze. Crowley just tucked his nose under his coils and let himself sleep. 

Some time later, Crowley was awoken by a jostling of his warm hideout. Out tumbled the small snake as the jacket was swiftly lifted from the ground, and shaken out. Crowley, should he have had limbs, would've been scrabbling for purchase in thin air as he fell. 

“Crowley?!?” exclaimed Aziraphale. Startled as he was, the angel was still quick to snap his fingers and soften the fall of the snake-shaped demon. 

Now slumped on the floor, Crowley was utterly awake. He peered up to meet Aziraphale’s concerned face, startling as large hands came towards his face. Against his will he violently recoiled, falling over himself disoriented as he was both from the rude awakening and the fall. Aziraphale, to his credit, had stopped his blunt approach in favor of softly announcing his intentions and gently stroking the nearest of Crowley’s scaley coils. Then offering his hand for Crowley to slither up the angels arm after the demon had recovered. Crowley accepted the procured hand with only a slightly miffed hiss. 

“You got too cold didn’t you,” said the angel, relieved, after checking over the snakey demon for any injuries and finding none. A slight hiss, and Crowley was tucking his face away from the increasingly smug face. “Well, darling, this saves me a trip seeing as I was just heading out to look for you! I don’t suppose you want to visit the Ritz, in this weather…”

Crowley only tightens around his angel’s wrist. Aziraphale nods knowingly, and moves to the lounge, miracle-ing the fire up again and himself a cup of tea. Lying back and moving Crowley to his chest where the demon unwound himself from the angel’s hand and miracled the bowtie and top buttons loose, nosing under the fabric and curling into the angel’s warmth, nose in the hollow of his throat. Aziraphale just letting the demon do as he would, just smiling indulgently down at him, stroking absently at the demon’s scales.

And that was how an angel and his demon spend the rest of a snow stormy day, and many after. Crowley learning to lean on his angel and Aziraphale working to support his demon, and vice versa. They are completely and utterly _loved._


End file.
